We spent this afternoon at Funland with a few members of our Sunday school class. There are a million things to do, but we didn't do much other than play laser tag and race go-karts.
Laser tag is kind of freaky, because it's almost pitch black in the arena, so when you turn around to run away, you smack into a wall while your vest is buzzing, signaling that you've been hit, and you know that if they were real bullets, you'd be dead twenty times already. What ever possesses us to want to play these games? Somehow I got the highest score (meaning I hit the most people). I have no idea how. I just backed myself into a corner and shot every red light I saw. And screamed a lot. The hardest part was when a very little boy was crying, "I want Mommy!" and I had to keep shooting. My mother-heart is much stronger than my warrior-heart.
But before you get to the room where you put on your vest and get your phaser, you watch a short video of rules, then the referee tells you the rules, and then you read them on a sign. These laser tag folks are serious about their rules. So serious, in fact, that they use plenty of punctuation:
Yes, even in the midst of WAR, I notice the punctuation.
Then came the go-karts. The closest thing to a go-kart I've ever driven was the '89 Volkswagen Fox we had years ago (the one that leaked water on your left foot when you turned right). But I watch NASCAR regularly, so I wasn't worried.
I chose my car carefully (the one all the way in the back so no one would hit me) and strapped myself in. When the green flag waved, we yelled, "Boogity, boogity, boogity, boys! Let's go racin'!" like the good NASCAR fans we are, and we all floored the gas. It took no more than half a second for me to hit the wall, bounce off veering wildly to the left, start laughing hysterically, and get it straightened out. By then, I had moved forward three feet. But I figured out which was the gas, got a feel for the steering, and made it out of the garage. And I actually had fun during the entire race, which consisted of Ariela (Abbie's friend) and I trying to stay far enough ahead of the other drivers that we wouldn't be overtaken (that's called being "lapped." I know that, because I watch NASCAR.) I even passed Ariela at one point and got a little loose in turn four (more NASCAR lingo), but I held onto it. Seriously, if you ever have the chance to race go-karts, do it. Try to go when you're having a bad hair day, because then no one will notice.
Here are Abbie and Joy, followed by Ariela and then Leah and Hannah:
And then the boys. Elijah is in the lead, followed closely by Ben and Mike:
I never raced near the boys, because they watch more NASCAR than I do, so they know all the moves, and they scare me.
The boys went to the batting cages, the girls wasted tokens in machines that spit out hundreds of tickets, which you then exchange for worthless prizes (think adult-level Chuck-E-Cheese's), and we decided we'd had enough. Ben and I and the girls left, and the boys stayed to race until closing, which might be midnight. Eleven hours of wind/exhaust/flying rubber/noise is just a little too much for me.
We stopped for dinner at Chipotle and came home to a quiet house and I'm ready to drop into bed. Tomorrow it's back to acting like adults.
Be thankful ~